Not Little Anymore
by Luna Corrona
Summary: Someone has done some growing up...one year after Christine's flight. This is a Meg story, and a one shot, though I will soon be adding an epilogue. You'll just have to wait and see if it's EC, won't you? (Don't worry; I wouldn't let my readers down)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, and if I did, you can bet your patooty (sp?) that Michael Crawford would be playing Erik in the movie version. Anyway, this is a one shot. Raoul sympathizers...well, turn back now. I don't want any flames. This is a one-shot, but due to some feedback and confusion, I have added an epilogue. Enjoy!

Not Little Anymore

"And 5, 6, 7, 8. _Plié. Plié_. Knees out, Isabelle. _Plié. Plié_. Suzette, curve the spine like this." It was a typical day in the _Corps de ballet_. Mme. Giry pounded her wooden cane in a rhythmic fashion on the hard wood floor, and she traveled up the perfectly formed lines of girls. She paused next to her daughter and observed her dancing. The girl's technique had improved a great deal within the last year; her leaps were the highest now and her eyes were shining brighter than ever before. Meg was dancing of joy.

At seventeen, Mme. Giry's "Little Meg" was no longer quite so little. But losing Christine Daaé a year earlier had dedicated her little dancer as never before. Meg lived for the letters she received about the young ingénue in her travels with her new husband across Europe. As Mme. Looked at the younger Giry, she watched the girl's cheeks flush and lips purse in concentration, and she held Meg's leg up a bit as she extended.

"Easy, Meg. You're concentrating too hard today."

"I'm sorry, _Maman_."

"No, Meg; _c'est bien_. Your dancing is improving everyday."

In her "classroom tone", Mme. Giry called for the attention of the dance troupe.

"Alright, girls. I am going to speak to Mademoiselle le Costumier about your shoes for the Gala performance. Meg is going to lead you until I return." The girls chattered in surprise, but they were content to let Meg go at it, for they had noticed improvement in their comrade as well. Meg composedly came to the front of the room and inclined her head at the ballet mistress. Her shining eyes were the only feature betraying the pleasure and excitement she felt. Mme. Giry nodded back and shut the door behind her. They had been without a prima ballerina for a long while, and maybe it was time to get the ball rolling...

Back in the studio behind the stage, Meg Giry faced her new "class".

"Okay, girls. We will rehearse our performance for the Gala evening, which is in two weeks. Pierre," she said, nodding at their accompanist. He began to play, his fingers tripping lightly over the ivory keys. Pierre was the nephew of M. Reyer, and he was a handsome fellow, indeed. He had raven black hair that fell over his shoulders and smoldering hazel eyes that were now half-closed as he lost himself in the music. Meg tore her gaze away from the twenty something pianist and turned her attention to the girls, trying to critically analyze the situation as her mother would.

"Higher, Bettina. Be graceful. No, Emma, like this. _C'est bon_, girls; double time, now. Pierre?"

Later that evening, the Vicomte de Changy roamed the halls of the Opéra Populaire. He was in a somewhat distressed state of mind, and he wanted to find the little ballet girl he sometimes went to for information. The girl seemed enamored of him, and a little flirting, Raoul reasoned, never hurt anyone.

What Monsieur le Vicomte didn't know was that Little Giry was over him. No one could say what the change in Meg had been over these several months. Some of the girls giggled and whispered that it was the dashing young Pierre, so new to the opera house, but Meg's newfound persona had begun before his arrival. She was like a flower, blossoming under tender care, and Raoul was about to experience that firsthand.

"Meg! Mademoiselle Giry!" He called, chasing after the young ballerina. She stopped and turned, inclining her head at him respectfully.

"Good evening, Monsieur le Vicomte." Raoul was puzzled; shouldn't the twit be giggling uncontrollably and blushing by now? But Meg had an indifferent look of coolness on her face, and the Vicomte was eerily reminded of the girl's mother.

_No matter, _he thought to himself; _I can melt the Ice Princess. _Raoul fixed Meg with a long, lazy smile that was slow and SHOULD have turned her into a jelly-like mass. On the inside, Meg instead of quivering was trying not to burst into the hysterical laughter that was beginning to shake her shoulders.

_My, how silly he looks when he's trying to be 'sexy', _she mused. "Is there something I can help you with, Monsieur?"

_She isn't melting! _"Well, Meg...I thought that maybe you and I could talk; have ourselves a little _conversation privée. _How have you been?" he asked, in what was obviously meant to be a seductive manner. Meg just blinked at him, in seeming disbelief.

"I could laugh at how easy it is to see through you now!"

"Excuse me?"

"I know you want information about Christine, and I don't have any for you! Now please, Monsieur-"

"Don't lie; you were her best friend! If she wrote anyone, it would be you!"

"Well, she isn't!" It wasn't quite a lie. Meg's letters didn't come from Christine. "I'm sorry, Monsieur le Vicomte. I wish I could help," she said, beginning to leave.

"Little Giry, you are forgetting your place, "Raoul said, dangerously. Meg didn't stop, though. Raoul rushed after her, grabbed her arm roughly and slammed her against the wall.

"Now, let me make something clear to you, _mon petit rat_."

"No, Monsieur. Let me make something clear to you, "she said, aiming a well-placed kick somewhere...below the belt.

As Raoul groaned and leaned over in pain, he released Meg's arm and she sidestepped him.

"I'm not going to help with your sickening quest for Christine and the Opera Ghost. Whether or not they are together isn't any of your concern. Neither has returned, so they are obviously both happy. Let it go at that and get on with your life!" Raoul was still crouching as Meg left, but she suddenly thought of something and turned back.

"Oh, and Monsieur? It's Mademoiselle Giry, now. I'm not 'Little Meg' anymore." With that, she turned on her heel and left.


	2. Epilogue

Erik smiled as he read his letter.

"Well, my dear; it seems that Meg Giry put the Vicomte in his place." Christine Daaé poked her head out from the room she was bathing in.

"Oh? How is that?"

"She had an encounter. Apparently, she told him that she wasn't 'Little Meg' anymore and...rendered him speechless," he said delicately.

"Good. Raoul is quite overbearing. Erik, she sounds so...passionate lately. What do you write to that girl in your letters?"

"Well, I think she believes in her skill now. I try to let her know that we both do. It's amazing what a little faith in someone can accomplish. And a handsome young pianist..."

"What?!" rang out as Christine returned to drying her hair.

"Oh, just Pierre," Erik said, nonchalantly.

"Pierre? Erik, who's Pierre?!" Erik chuckled to himself

"I'll tell you tonight, darling, after _Il travitore,_ but if you don't get dressed right now, we won't get a box at _La Scala._ Hurry, please."

"Okay, okay." About fifteen minutes later, Christine emerged in a low-cut, red dress that hugged her slim figure in a very flattering way. Erik looked at his wife and marveled at how lucky she made him feel.

"Shall we, my darling?" he asked, rising from his chair and offering his arm to escort her out the door. She took it and they smiled at each other as they left the tiny bed and breakfast in lovely Milan. Erik helped Christine step into the carriage and then followed her.

"I love you, Erik."

"And I love you, _mon ange__."_


End file.
